They were hard to flush out, because the park was dotted with gazebos – ‘follies’ built in the Famine days to provide work – and if you hid in one you could always get out later by climbing the tall iron gates. There were places too, where footholes had been gouged in the perimeter wall. ‘I’ll have yez summonsed!’ Mr Lacy’s peaked cap sliced through the dimness. Authority shone from his brass-buttons. ‘I’ll tell yeer Mammies.’ There was a by-law – but what was a by-law? – forbidding anyone to linger in the locked, possibly perilous park. Mysterious goings-on had been reported. A girl from Teresa Dunne’s school had fainted when a man did some momentous thing, appearing to her out of a bush. The gardai had come, but then the matter was hushed up and the girl cowed into discretion. ‘I’ll tell you what she saw,’ Mrs Malahide offered Teresa. ‘If you like.’ They were in the Malahides’ drawing room, and Teresa, whose mother had sent her over with a cake, was waiting to be given back the plate.
